Goodbye: Romantic ConTEXTing Haiku Lament

Garden and Boston/
books will go on shelves. The sharp/
cheese I’ll save for me.

My Hidden Walls: Revolutionary Iambic IMprov Poetry

People with a narrow view
say “There are no walls around you.”
Their vision is ascew,
and simply not true.

My fences
are more subtle defenses.
Insecurity
is what hides me.

My foolish intensity
is what protects me.
The outlandish things I say
push people away.

Since my youth
that’s been my excuse.
When friendships yield treason,
I can say my words are the reason.

Then I never have to say
“They didn’t like ME anyway.”
Rejection’s never a personal afront.
It’s just my words they don’t want.

So I shield and protect myself
as people put my words, not me, on the shelf.
(and that’s an insight into me
that most people rarely see.)

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Who I Send Poetry To: Romantic Email Limeric

Nobody else
receives words from my mind’s shelf.
Well, that’s not true completely.
I send tender, romantic poetry
to myself.

Just Say It: Romantic ConTEXTing Poem

I thot 2 myself:/
“She can’t get her butt off the shelf,/
2 email, text or call me?/
Anything at all 2 me/
2 say/
‘It’s not U;/
go away./
We’re thru!'”/
So, I did.

Food Storage Shelved: Revolutionary ConTEXTing Haiku

Now that food storage/
is settled, preparations/
done, I’m not needed.

Ruminating on a Pamper Party: Romantic ConTEXTing Poem

She holds pamper parties;/
buys items 4 her shelf./
That always makes me wonder:/
Does she ever buy 4 herself?/
Or will she ever let someone in/
2 pamper her again?

Deciding What To Do With Me: Revolutionary ConTEXTing Poetry

Why/
do U try/
2 decide/
what 2 do with me?/
I have my pride!/
I’m not some commodity!/
(Tho being a spice/
would b nice.)/
I’m an oddity,/
it’s true./
But not just me…

Shelf Romantic Poetry: A Revolutionary Haiku

A note to myself:/
Stuff romantic poetry/
on shelf. It’s too much.

Shelving Tacoma’s Ghosts: A Romantic Email Poem

Only a real deal/
such as yourself/
could help me desire/
to put Tacoma’s ghosts on the shelf./
To tread through Old Town streets/
where other women ran rough-shod/
over my heart with their feet.